


Noctis' Complexus

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Depiction of Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, graphic descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: Many years before the Amulet chose it's human bearer, Kanjigar is faced with the most difficult challenge of his life; looking after two newly orphaned whelps after investigating a goblin attack. All of Trollmarket will be in an uproar, Blinky is over-eager to teach and learn, Vendel is Very Concerned, and Draal is jealous of these new "siblings".





	1. Starlight, Star Bright

**Author's Note:**

> First Trollhunters fanfiction, whoop whoop! Updates will be sporadic. May settle into a schedule later on, but not anytime soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years before Jim Lake Jr. is chosen as the new Trollhunter, his predecessor, Kanjigar the Courageous, is presented with one of the most difficult challenges he's ever faced since the Amulet chose him. Struggling to learn where the line lies within the sand when it comes to his own duties, and the unpredictability of Life.
> 
> For sand is subject to change; the tide ebbs and flows, washing it away by simple happenstance; people uncaring of the lines significance walks all over it, smudging and marring; the wind may scatter and unravel the markings, and a new line is always, always drawn and redrawn. . .
> 
> But will it remain where it has always lain? Or will there be monumental change?

Many bridges spanned the canal, but only one bore the entrance to Heartstone Trollmarket. Enclad in armor and sword at the ready, Kanjigar emerged, ready to head off any goblins that dared show their faces.

The vile creatures had been seen gathering and shouting on a neighboring bridge, before vanishing as sunrise approached. And there they were, swarming the bridge and fighting some creature caught up in the support beams.

Charging up the side of the canal, Kanjigar leapt upon the bridge, and immediately set to work. Amid the sulfuric, rubbery smell of goblin was the distinct scent of copper and iron, hot and fresh. As well as bird-scent, a raptor if he was not incorrect, mixed with just a hint of human-scent, but wilder than any that resided within Arcadia.

The goblins retreated before him, cursing and growling. Whatever being they'd beset suddenly lashed out as well, swinging blades that sang and gleamed in the scant moonlight, extra limbs swatting and thrashing and clubbing. Kanjigar worked with them, cutting the goblins to goo and watching one another's back. It felt unnatural, to work alongside a partner, but they were much more nimble than he, capable of jumping great heights and quick to assist, so he did not mind it entirely. Before too long, the remaining few goblins took off in search of reinforcements, retreating; for now.

This gave Kanjigar the opportunity to look his unexpected ally up and down. And what he saw rather astonished him.

A tall, lean woman with softly glowing eyes of gold, like twin harvest moons, much larger than any humans eyes. Her skin was the color of hot chocolate, hair dark brown-black and coming out of her carefully made braid down the nape of her neck. Soft brown feathers grew over the tops of her shoulders, down her back, where two large wings spread from her sides, posed to take flight at any moment; the feathers trailed further down her spine to the long, elegant tail feathers that spread out like a skirt and a fan, soft brown to a rich earthy color, speckled with black, white, and gray..

Short, thin blades rested comfortably in her hands, and more were fastened with soft leather straps to her wings, the woman was clad in only a loincloth and chest binding. Her gaze was cool and calculating, but undeniably relieved after her gaze locked for a single moment upon The Amulet. Sheathing the swords within sheathes tied to her forearms, she bowed from the waist, arms and wings outspread to show her respect and gratitude.

"Trollhunter, I thank you deeply for rescuing me."

"Rise, fair warrior. Can you, pray tell, explain to me why the goblins were so focused upon you? And why you lingered on this bridge for two nights now?" Kanjigar replies, sheathing Daylight on his back for now.

She rose as he bid her, and retreated back into the shadows of the bridge, returning with a small grass-woven basket. The soft scent of young whelps met his nose, two distinct scents, and he suddenly understand.

"They would dare attack your children? Where is your flock, or mate?"

" . . .my flock has forsaken me. My mate . . . was human."

"Ah." is all he manages to say shocked a bit of an understatement. Pulling himself back together he gestured for her to follow him. "Come, before the goblins return with reinforcements."

"No. Please, leave me to lead them away. I've killed many of them, and they've blooded me. Please, take my owlets, and protect them in Trollmarket."

"You would abandon your children so quickly?" Kanjigar asks, incredulous, but in the back of his mind was hoping to convince her to remain with the young whelps.

He could see the wound she spoke of, now that he was looking; a woman Skin-changers loincloth was more of a long skirt, slit along both sides, shorter perhaps for the bird- and -bat-shifters, so as not to inconvenience them during aerial maneuvering and landing. This Skin-Changer had cut her's short, though not to the point of indecency, and had used the cloth to tie a tight knot around the base of one wing.

Soaked through with her blood, it fell in drips upon the bridge supports, telling of her passage, her scent, her / _life/_ spilling away. She would be very hard pressed to fly with such a wound, and risked permanent damage if she waited too long for proper treatment.

The winged woman shook her head no, eyes pained. "No. I cannot recover easily from this wound; the goblins and even my old flock will hunt be now. I know the old tales; of the owl flocks and bat colonies lending your troll clans aid against Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumm armies. But things have changed . . . though he is locked away, his son still roams free, and he's made a point to wipe the Skin-Changers out, one by one. The flocks are much stricter than they used to be . . . they will not tolerate my half-blooded owlets.

"I wrote three letters, to be read by whoever may have found this basket. One for each child, and the third for their surrogate parents. Please,"

Growing desperate, the Owl Skin-Changer held the basket out to Kanjigar, and the tiny, fragile bundles within. Hesitantly, carefully, the Trollhunter took the basket from her, holding it close. Standing straighter, he looked her in the eye and said, "I will make sure they are protected, and well-cared for within Heartstone Trollmarket. I swear on my honor as the Trollhunter, no harm will come to them."

A thin, pained smile crossed the womans face, and she bowed to him once more. "Thank you, Trollhunter. I will lead the goblins as far as I can when they return, and I believe them yet unaware of my owlets. Here," taking off and sheathing the arm-blades and wing-blades, she offered them to him. "For my owlets, when they are old enough. An inheritance."

He accepted them, holding the weapons within one large hand.

"Now, go, please, while there is yet time."

Nodding once more, Kanjigar turned and leapt from the bridge, gently cradling the two small whelps within their basket-nest. Standing within the entryway to Trollmarket, the Trollhunter looked back once more at the lone, winged figure that was now perched upon the very top of the bridge. He caught the whispering movements of goblins approaching from both sides, crawling along underneath, overtop; and, for the first time since he'd taken up the mantel of Trollhunter . . .

Kanjigar turned his back on one who needed his help, and entered the sanctity of Trollmarket.


	2. Alert

*Ahem*. Hello, everyone! Man, it has been a long time. . . About a year I beleive. My apologies for being so absent, real life has been really busy and stressful for the past few months. If people are still interested in this humble story, I will gladly muster up the energy to continue it.

 

So please, comment and let me know what you, the viewers, want from this story in the coming weeks, and into the new year.

Edit: Hiya everyone! Working on a new chapter! Once it’s posted, I’ll delete this one and that’ll be that!


	3. Trials of the Feathered Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Chapter two, after nearly two years. I hope you all enjoy, and my apologies for al those that waited so d*mn long for anything new.

_Once upon a time, their were many clans of a people known simply as /Skin-Changers/. They were a vast and plentiful race, with many clans and cultures all interwoven and widespread. You see, they looked like humans, but could take on the traits and form of an animal._

_In the days of the War with Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumm armies, the clans of Bats and Owls of all sorts allied themselves with the good Trolls and the Trollhunter, acting where trolls could not in the daylight._

_They were brave warriors and compassionate healers, sage scholars and eccentric fortune-tellers, and the bravest among them were the leaders Jokul and Adelaide._

_Jokul was a snow owl from the far north, equal parts committed and playful, he entertained those of the owl clans with his silly displays, easing the tension of the war. He often foretold things that were to come, and though he often spoke in riddle in regards to the future, he was very rarely wrong._

_Adelaide, on the other hand, was a fruit bat, often spending her days seeking out food to feed her bat legions. Her nights were spent strategizing with the troll generals, telling them what she had seen and suspected. She was excellent at moving unseen, often finding secrets routes to move their troops and supply lines._

_United, Trolls and Skin-Changers were all the stronger than they would have ever been alone._

_But the Trollhunter and the clans of good trolls were not the only ones to ally themselves with those of other races. Through desperation and threats, he gained the allies of the Raccoon and Fox Skin-Changer, instigating many more wars in the centuries following the defeat of the Gumm-Gumm armies between the Skin-Changers._

“Mr. Blinky! Didn’t the Gumm-Gumm’s also have nasty ol’ gob’ins fightin’ with ‘em?”

Looking up from his tome, blinking all six eyes in surprise, the scholar smiled a little at his students, chuckling when the younger shushed them loudly.

”Yes they did, Dox. And they still do.”

The little skin-changer grinned, but her siblings feathers puffed up indignantly, irked that “bad” behavior had been rewarded.

”Something wrong, Mick?”

”. . . She interrupted the story.”

”Well,” Blinky glanced over at Aaarrrgghh who was yawning sleepily. “It’s nearly time for young owlets to be on your way, anyway. It’s nearly time for dinner.”

Twin cries of “Awwww!!!” Echoed within the scholarly trolls library, but he only chucked good-naturedly and shut the tome with a mighty CLAP, setting it aside.

”Now now, you know what your father will say. Draal should be along soon to bring you back home.”

Gently shooing the two youngsters out of the room, waving goodbye to their squawks and promises to return tomorrow, Blinky recalled with fondness when the two Skin-Changer whelps first arrived in Trollmarket, some years ago. Ah, what a day that had been!

* * *

 Kanjigar moved through Trollmarket, silent as a shadow, bearing two curious items in hand. One, a small, grass-woven basket. The other, the traditional weapons of a winged Skin-Changer warrior, fresh with the scent of rubber and sulphar.

He went, first and foremost, to Vendel, seeking first to ensure that the two whelps he carried were not injured in any way.

It had been a long time since Vendel had to tend to the needs of the Skin-Changers, but he was able to confirm that the two little ones were indeed healthy, judging them to be around the age of toddlers, for Skin-Changers that is. 

Covered in downy feathers, the two blinked their little eyes at their surroundings, uncertain what to make of the towering figures of stone that moved and talked above them. 

Before long, the little female began to hoot in a squeaky little voice, growing ever-louder as her brother sniffled, tears welling up in his eyes. 

Kanjigar began to panic, gently scooping up the little female, trying to shush her growing wails. 

“What is it, little one?”

He asked softly, glancing at the little boy, who stared up at him with watery blue eyes. 

Shrieks answered in turn, the little owlet opening her mouth wide, practically gaping, screeching louder.

”Did their mother say anything? Anything at all?”

Vendel demanded, quickly growing low on patience.

”Y. . .yes! She wrote a letter, for whoever would find them.”

Fishing the letter out, Vendel glanced over all three, picking out the one that read in both human and troll characters, tearing it open with a claw and fishing out the paper within.

”. . . Hmph. I can’t make these out. Too sloppy. Take them to Blinky.”

Kanjigar blinked in confusion, glancing from the whelps to the letters. When Vendel raised his brows and turned away, the Trollhunter sighed and gently placed the two whelps back in their basket. Thankfully, the began to quite once again, surrounded by blankets and soft fluff (probably their mothers, bless her soul).

After confirming that the weapons would be in safe hands with Vendel, Kanjigar once again made the trek through Trollmarket, this time to Blinky’s Library.

The trainer was delighted to see his former student once again, worry and intrigue clear when the situation was explained. 

Aaarrrgghh peered into the basket, sniffing curiously. He remembered well the Skin-Changer clans. . . Though he only grew more familiar with those Winged Ones after siding with the Trollhunter of the time.

The scholarly troll immediately went to work, seeking out every book he had on Skin-Changers, in particular those that spoke of the Owl clans, the way they hunted, reared their young, and treated their wounds.

He was sad to say, but there wasn’t as many as he had hoped on the subject, but what he had should suffice until he could contact other heartstones.

The letters themselves, once revealed, proved to be a great deal of help, at least in verifying some of the information they had on-hand, as well as telling them of things that were not penned down.

As it turned out. . .the little owlets were hungry. The little female, a spitting image of her mother, was named Paradox, with a tendency to be much more vocal, with a tendency to be a little hot-headed and violent when it came to affection, hitting and nipping. The snow-white male was Mimic. He was much quieter than his sibling, but very inquisitive, gentle in nature. He was much more likely to listen when it came to needing to be quiet and still, to hide.

That in and of itself was very disconcerting, considering how Kanjigar had come by the two youngsters. At the ages they were, around four years old, their mother must have been almost constantly on the move, unable to give them the stable life that young Barn Owl’s needed (or so the letter said they were).

Long and narrow of it was, Kanjigar had much to learn aside from his initial history lessons about the Skin-Changers, if he was to ensure they would be properly cared for.

Briefly entrusting Blinky and Aaarrrgghh with the care of the whelps, the Trollhunter left, acquiring food the little ones could safely consume on his mind.

* * *

 

“What?!”

Snorting sharply, Draal glared at the two whelps.

”It is only until I find someone who can look after them properly and raise them. It will only take a week or two, at most.”

Bringing the two home had been a mistake, but he could not simply dump the two on some other troll pair or individual. Trolls came and went, visiting and leaving once again throughout the seasons. He needed to seek out the permanent residents, and make sure he made good judgement on who he picked.

His son continued to glare mutinously at the two owlets, who seemed unaware of his mounting hostility. Paradox tilted her head, squeaking at him, little wings flapping haphazardly. Mimic was much more shy, cuddled up to his sibling, but he smiled shyly at the blue troll. 

Disgruntled though he was, Draal had little choice but to accept his fathers choice. 

But as one week turned to two and then three, the owlets continued to live with them. By the time two months had rolled around, Draal finally confronted his father about it, demanded to know why the two whelps were being kept around.

”I haven’t found anyone who could take care of them properly, or were willing too.”

”And what makes YOU so competent?!”

”I took the time to read the letter and do research. I can’t trust those I’ve met so far to be so attentive—“

”Bushagul!”

Draal spat, shaking his head. Leaving their home altogether, stomping off towards the Arena. 

Just as he was entering, he heard a soft, frightened hoot, and paused. Oh, no. Carefully feeling back over his spikes, he soon found what he dreaded was there. . . A small, fragile body covered in downy feathers.

Only after the whelp had clambered into his hand did he bring it back around, glaring at the little puffball. 

“. . . Quit it. Quit looking at me like that!” 

He growled quietly, his glare boring into the golden gaze of Paradox, or Dox, as Blinky and his father had taken to calling the little menace.

The whelp blinked quietly up at him, then crossed her arms, scowling up at him as she spat gibberish back at him.

”. . . What.”

He’d heard nothing but hooting and screeching since the pair of nuisances and been dropped into his life, so this weird almost-real-speech was bizarre.

”. . .wot?”

Doc babbled back, her feathers bristling. 

Shaking his head, Draal continued on his way into the Arena, setting the whelp into a corner out of the way, giving the command for “Stay still, be silent”, he went on to spar with some other budding warriors, taking only one loss and absolutely tanking the rest. 

Afterwards, he found Dox, seated at the Arena’s edge, watching on in awe and excitement, and no where NEAR where he’d left her before. 

Sighing and shaking his head, his anger having been beat out of him (and into his defeated opponents) for now, he scooped her up and brought her home.

Neither his father nor the little white puffball were anywhere to be seen. Hmph. All the better. He set the little nuisance down in the makeshift nest his father had procured, digging up some leftover kitten from earlier in the day to settle her hungry squalling. 

That finally settled, Draal went to his room and collapsed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 

Blinky shook his head slightly at the memories, recalling that Kanjigar had returned home, worried sick for the little owlet, having scoured the whole of Trollmarket looking for her. He’d brought little Mick, or Mimic, to the library, leaving Aaarrrgghh and himself to look after him first and foremost. 

Oh, the lecture Draal had received upon his fathers return! The fury and relief of the resident Trollhunter was palpable, even in the retelling.

In the end, Kanjigar took on the role of rearing the owlets himself, finding any other candidates to be unsatisfactory. Vendel lended assistance when they whelps were unwell, and Blinky And Aaarrrgghh were more than willing to teach and supervise the little ones when Kanjigar’s duty as the Trollhunter called him away from Trollmarket.

Draal limited his contact with the owlets, on the other hand. He refused to spend any more time than necessary with them, ignoring them when they approached him with questions or asking for help. 

The citizens of Heartstone Trollmarket were a little more, on the fence (as the humans said!) about the young whelps. Most, if not all of them knew of the alliance between Skin-Changers and trolls during the war, and thankfully treated the whelps with kindness, however uncertain they were about their presence in the ‘Market.

And this was more often than not. Found wandering the market or residential areas on their own, trailing after Kanjigar or perched upon his shoulders and head, the owlets were full of questions. They asked about a vendors wares, or pestered customers about where they had traveled from.

Most of all, they asked questions about the Surface. A few trolls divulged some facts here and there, and wild stories at other times. Where Dox had a tendency to believe these stories at face-value, Mick often went to Blinky, asking confirmation on what they’d heard.

He’d snuggle up to Aaarrrgghh, whether the giant troll was awake or asleep, listening in wide-eyed glee as Blinky explained all he knew, telling stories of truth and history, on occasion indulging them with a fantasy tale. 

But sometimes, they asked questions that none of them could give satisfactory answers for. Questions about their mother and father. The letters were kept secret from them, held until they were of age, which was a poorly defined time for the Skin-Changer young. 

By everything Blinky had found, it was when a young owl could fly, hunt, and fight sufficiently enough to leave their parents nest for good and seek a territory all their own, or so the more ancient tomes declared. Though the actions following had changed, especially during and after the War, the meaning still held meaning.

The owlets were already beginning to grow in adult feathers, a little more each year than the one before. At fourteen years of age, they were already hopping about and flapping their wings, playing and pouncing on the soft stuffed toys that Kanjigar traded for and bought from certain vendors. 

So while there was still time to be had before they grew old enough for these things, the disappointed little faces of the two were enough to make anyone feel downhearted. 

Though the meeting was brief, Kanjigar firmly believed the Skin-Changer woman (known only as Niq from her letter), was a brave, noble, compassionate warrior, who had followed her heart and broken tradition, choosing a mate outside her clan that she loved instead of one that would have been chosen for her. 

In doing so, she broke her flocks laws and was outcast completely, and presumably, she was actively hunted down by Gunmar’s son, the only Gumm-Gumm that had not been imprisoned in the Darklands.

. . . There was no need for concern for their old allies. Together and on their guard, they could easily escape, and escape detection altogether. 

Niq herself had been scrupulously carefully, weaving her basket of strong-smelling grasses and herbs, the goblins hopefully never knew the owlets were even there. Now a dried-out brown husk of what it once was, it contained only the letters, old feathers, and the blades that Niq had left with Kanjigar for safekeeping. An inheritance for the growing owlets, when they came of age.

Already, they had grown so much since they arrived, ten years ago. A decade was little more than a blink of an eye for trolls, at times, who could live for centuries at a time. Skin-Changers, on the other hand, lived only twice as long as human, sometimes three times as long, but only in very, very rare occasions. 

However old Dox and Mick would grow to be, Blinky intended to prolong their lives as far as he could, teaching them the mistakes of the past, so they could bear that knowledge into the future and bring it to bear with wits as sharp as steel.

. . . Ah, he was thinking ahead again. It would be a long while yet before they were old enough to venture forth through life on their own, whether they’d choose to stay in Heartstone Trollmarket or leave was entirely up to them. Oh, how he would miss them when they left. They were among his best students!

* * *

 

(Something something, Mick gets hurt and doesn’t say anything. Dox catches wind of this and attempts to beat up who did it, getting hurt as well. Draal is forcibly dragged into it, beating the offender to a pulp [purely to defend his own honor] afterwards pestered further by Dox for sparring lessons, and Dox quietly warms up to him. When shot down, Draal is ordered to go and apologize to the sensitive little snowflake)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, replaced my sloppy first attempt with the real deal! Please read, enjoy, and comment!


End file.
